


Honey Tea and Mountain Streams

by agberts



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Adult!Dipper, Bill is a creep but a vague one, BillDip, Dipper is a writer, M/M, Mindscape hijinks, extreme similes and metaphors, triangular madness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:58:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3255803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agberts/pseuds/agberts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dipper meets an old enemy after making an important decision. As they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have this big BillDip thing in the works but I wanted to write something short and fun. I actually wrote most of it at school but then decided that it was worth finishing and posting. And after writing Get Well Soon Wirt I needed to write something that was not enough fluff to give me, and all my descendants, cavities. Please enjoy.

Leaving was such a sweet melancholy It played across the tongue like honey masking overstepped and bitter tea. He, the man seated in the windowsill, thought of this old tourist trap as his real home. Multitudes of summers spent here during his boyhood had changed him. Though he might never admit it out loud, especially not to his parents and their albeit failed Ivy League dreams, he would be perfectly content moving here and never leaving this town again. Maybe that was why a few months ago, he was so quick to volunteer to watch over his great uncle, whose recovery from hip surgery had been a slow and arduous process. The healing significantly slowed by the old man’s resistance to rest and insistence to continue to run his business.   
But now, Stan had healed. There was nothing holding the man here in this backwoods wash-up calling itself a town. Only yester the man’s twin sister had called. She started out complaining about her newest fling, a musician known only as “E”, but quickly moved to questioning the man about his plans to return to New York. “You’re gonna miss Fashion Week!” she had said. “Who is going to organize the protests against the poor working conditions for models?” she had asked. “Dipper!” she had wailed with a cry that lasted almost two minutes. The man, accustomed to his sister’s antics, laughed. The nickname, Dipper, was an old one, but one that only reinforced the nostalgia of his summers spent here. Stan still called him that, and some of the townsfolk, but it’s strange to hear the name come out of his sister’s mouth.  
The man, Dipper Pines, wondered how hard it would be for him to write books. He had the inspiration and the practical knowledge to write paranormal stories. Stan, whom Dipper suspected was liking his presence, would let him stay here. Mabel, the twin, was having the time of her life, no time or need for an overly cautious brother. He didn’t have a job but he already wrote freelance sometimes for the newspaper. He could pick up a couple more a month and have plenty. It would finally be a good use of that journalism degree.  
With pleasant and hopeful thoughts making lazy circles inside his head, Dipper nodded off. His determination to stay in Gravity Falls, no matter how insignificant it seemed to him, stirred something just out of memory’s reach. Maybe if he had stayed awake for just a little longer, he would have noticed the flashing light or the stillness of the trees. But the lull of happy thoughts and the warm sunlight streaming through the window. He must have forgotten, which is not something the man experienced commonly, the dangers that came from falling asleep under the glass eye of your most powerful enemy. 

If before the room had been honey colored and sun touched, it had turned dark and cold, like all the colors had been removed. Instead of being a cup of tea drunk in the morning, it was like the last gasping swallow of stream water taken by someone lost in the woods who knew that this was the last thing that they will ever consume. A sharp taste filled Dipper’s mouth, like he tried to swallow sand or blood or coins.  
This was not the first time something like this happened. Once, twice, maybe even three times in what Dipper could remember. He knew the sensation because being pulled out of your body and into the Mindscape was not something that one could ever forget, even if you couldn’t remember what happened once you got there.  
Only one being that Dipper knew of had the raw power to pull other people into the Mindscape. Only one being that Dipper knew of had a reason to pull Dipper in the Mindscape. Only one being that Dipper knew of had a laugh that echoed around the room and sent vibrations straight through your bones. At the sound, he startled, falling out of the window seat.  
“Pine Tree!” Bill Cipher greeted. He appeared larger than life, his golden triangularity filling the room from ceiling to ground. His presence was a vacuum, pulling all attention towards him. Bill was the epicenter and the Mindscape curved towards him. Dipper couldn’t tear his eyes away. “It’s been too long.” Bill straightened his bowtie. “I was hoping we’d get to talk one on one.” He glided closer, crowding Dipper against the wall. Dipper scrambled backwards trying to escape the demon.   
Pressed up against the wall, Dipper asked, “What do you want to talk about?” An unthinkable question. He had learned, in his investigations of the strange happenings in town, never to allow your opponent to set the rules. He was already trapped in Bill Cipher’s home base and now he had just handed Bill control of the confrontation.  
Bill shrunk down to the size Dipper was used to. Before Bill could answer the question, Dipper jumped in. “I’ve been in Gravity Falls for months. Why wait to contact me?”  
The demon shrugged. “I dunno Pine Tree. I’m not one for a game of dine-and-dash if you get my drift. But you’ve made a recent decision to extend your stay.”  
“I made that decision like, ten minutes ago!” Dipper exclaimed. He was still clutching at the wall, his nails digging into the wood and splinters digging into his palm. “And anyways, I don’t want to play any games with you.”  
“Yeesh Dipper,” Bill said. “You need to calm down.” He looked down at the man who was currently panicking. Dipper looked back up with big, scared eyes and bit his lip. Bill tapped at his bowtie, thinking for a moment before announcing, “I’ve got just the thing!”  
Dipper watched on in horror as Bill’s form squeezed and distorted. An invisible hand was pulling it apart like putty. With a sick popping noise Bill went from triangle to full on three dimensional pyramid. He whistled and spinned, the whole room spinning with him. Dipper screamed but Bill was too busy admiring his new form to pay much mind.   
“Whaddya think?” Bill asked. Dipper, still panting from the sudden merry go round ride, only glared. Bill grumbled. “Humans and your insistence on proportional forms.” The edges of the rooms, the corners, peeled away leaving only void behind them. Like everything else, they went straight to the demon and swirled around him. They wrapped like ribbons around an invisible form. They became a black suit, the arms and legs were gangly and bent slightly wrong, but a recognizable form nonetheless. With another grand show of altering the Mindscape, Dipper wondered if Bill Cipher was showing off for him. “Pretty good for a slap together,” Bill commented. He turned towards Dipper again, the pyramid tilting slightly to the side. He was waiting for Dipper to answer.  
“Very nice. But can I go now? Look how stressed I am, you don’t want to talk to me like this,” Dipper bargained. Bill laughed, that grating sound again.  
“I told you that I was going to fix that, no strings attached even,” Bill said. With his newly formed hands, the demon pulled Dipper away from the wall and into the center of the room. The spindling arms locked down on either side of his head and the demon straddled the man. Dipper felt trapped, pinned like a butterfly against a board, staring up at the face of his captor.   
Bill ground down against Dipper. Dipper gasped and struggled to break free. He hadn’t gotten any since New York, back in March, and his body reacted to any sort of stimulus. Bill just pressed down harder, arms moving in closed until they were pressing down on their shoulders and his grinding increased.  
“I don’t think that this is calming,” groaned Dipper. “You should probably just let me go. I mean, this isn’t really good for conversation.”   
“You gotta point, Pine Tree,” Bill said. “I better just speed this up.” One of his arm moved, tracing down from Dipper’s shoulder, his chest, and between his false body and Dipper’s.

Dipper woke with a gasp. Unlike before, he was dignified enough not to fall off of the seat. But also, this time there was hopefully no watchful demons with mysterious plots and scheming minds. For the first time in all of the many years that Dipper had known this particular attic, he realized just what the old window reminded him of. If the dream had been real, which it in all probability was, Bill still had not told him what he had originally wanted. Just when Dipper thought that he was ready to settle down, Gravity Falls pulled him back under.  
He made a mental note not to fall asleep in this particular position again, or even in the attic ever again.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> None of your questions are answered, mysteries abound, but what else would you want?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I certainly didn't expect to write a second chapter, but I also didn't expect to receive such kind feedback! Thank you for all of your kudos. I hope that all of you enjoy more weird similes and strange metaphors. From this point on, I will try to update with regular frequency but no promises.

Dipper sat at the kitchen table, a steaming cup of sugar filled coffee on his left and a toasted bagel of the supermarket variety on his right. Sitting in front of him was Grunkle Stan’s typewriter. He had, in a moment of clarity yester afternoon, realized that if he really wanted to write, he needed to stay away from the distracting siren’s call of the internet. The wifi at the Shack could be spotty, usually corresponding to the mating cycle of a rare type of waterbug, but Dipper would rather be safe than sorry.

The aspiring writer took a sip of the over-sweetened coffee and placed his fingers on the keytop. With a sudden strike of inspiration Dipper began to type. After completing the first paragraph, he read back over what he had written. Dipper grimaced at the purple prose and groaned in the face of the complicated and extended metaphor he had set up.

He pulled the offensively poor writing out of the typewriter, balled it up, and slammed it down on the table top. He started again. A sip of coffee, a bite of bagel, a cringe worthy paragraph, and repeat. An hour passed, and he still had not created anything of value.

Grunkle Stan rattled into the kitchen in the way only an old man could. He puttered through the pantry before pulling out his heart-healthy, fiber-filled cereal. Then he brewed his customarily weak coffee, which was more boiled water than coffee. He looked at the single typed paragraph sitting in the typewriter.

“Haven’t you been at this all morning?” Stan asked. Dipper gestured to the pile of paper balls crowded atop the small kitchen table. Stan unfolded one and quickly scanned it. The older man sniggered and sat down across from Dipper, continuing to read the rejected prose. His mirth increased with each discarded paragraph that he read. “You write alike a lonely old housewife.”

“Thanks Stan,” Dipper responded. “Your encouragement means a lot to me.” Dipper then got up with plans to make himself a new cup of coffee.

Grunkle Stan stood up too. “I’m going to go fetch the newspaper. Gotta check the obituaries.” He was out of the kitchen and almost out of the door before he called back, “You could make a million dollars writing books for twelve-year-old girls.”

Dipper sat back down at the typewriter with a fresh cup of coffee. He reread what he had written and buried his face in his hands. “I’m cursed to be forever trapped in the YA novel section,” he groaned, cursing his fate.

 

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Bill Cipher’s voice filled Dipper’s head. The demon would literally need to be inside his skull if he wanted his message any louder. Dipper set down his fifth or maybe sixth coffee and reconsidered all of the caffeine he had imbibed.

Almost three months passed with the gracelessness of water deluging out of a soaked sponge suspended above, squeezed to be better put to use. Dipper kept his eyes peeled for any signs of demon activity. He would track star patterns, keep track of lost time, examine everything with an EMF sensor. Ghosts tend to leave when there’s a demon abound, for already being dead they are pretty cautious beings. The total amount of tension caused the total amount of coffee he consumed to almost triple. A vicious cycle, really. But it did wonders for his writing. Dipper Pines had written, edited, and published his first novel in just over ten weeks.

“About our conversation a few months ago,” Dipper started. Bill ignored him, staring more intently at the coffee than the man which he had obviously come to visit. What other reason did Bill have for appearing at the kitchen table while Dipper had his back turned. “You have to agree that it was strange. You’re a dream demon but this is the first reported time that you have exhibited sexual behaviours.” 

The coffee must have been incredibly fascinated because Bill could not tear his eye away to even give Dipper a glance. He was using telepathic powers to stir in a heaping spoonful of sugar, his hands gripped the table with frozen joints. “Bill Cipher! Why are you here if you aren’t going to speak to me?” Dipper sat down across from the demon and sighed. “I’m supposed to be writing right now. You’re interrupting my flow.”

Bill laughed, a single, harsh barking noise. “So that’s what you kids call it these days. Back when I was hoping across the ocean more, they called it gross indecency.” Dipper blushed.

“I’ve only published one of those books, I’ll have you know. You don’t get to judge me,” Dipper said, arms crossed and defensive. He relaxed a moment later, or at least loosened his limbs into a semblance of confidence. Bill patted his hand condescendingly and took a sip of the extremely sweetened coffee.

“One day you’ll succeed,” Bill consoled. “Gay porn is a very profitable business, I heard.” A triangle cannot smile per se, but Cipher certainly knew how to grin.

“As to why you are here Bill,” Dipper said, feeling very much like he was an old record player, not just set to loop the same song, but skipping so badly that all that came out of his mouth was the same three notes.

Bill tilted his head to a precise forty-five degree angle. “You really are no fun. Can’t we just have a nice chat? This is why we couldn’t talk last time, you’re always so worked up!”

“Please, just tell me what you want,” he begged. 

Bill scoffed, “You don’t understand this yet, Dipper Pines, but I already have what I want.”

“We both know that’s not what I meant!” Dipper was practically shouting. The caffeine from Dipper’s first cup of coffee was starting to kick in and he was feeling pretty antsy. He wanted to throw the mug Bill was currently nursing across the room.

Bill Cipher tapped what would be his chin if he was not a literal triangle. “If I had a mouth, I would kiss you in an effort to shut you up.” Bill stood. “We can work on that more next time.” He disappeared.

A popping sound shocked Dipper from his sleep. The room was considerably darker. Lost time, again. Grunkle Stan stood by the aging microwave, heating up popcorn. He didn’t seem to notice that his great-nephew spent the entire day asleep at the kitchen table. Dipper pulled off the piece of paper that had melded to his face during his unexpected nap.

After Stan had left the kitchen, Dipper examined the window behind the table. There was nothing odd with the design of the panes, not like the blatant symbolism in the attic. In the fading light of the kitchen, carved into the lower corner of the window frame, he found the familiar shape of the triangle with the single eye.

Dipper wondered if the universe was playing a trick on him or every string was being pulled by someone who could be easily be mistaken for a dorito.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If kudos are worth their weight in gold, comments are worth their weight in printer ink. Both are appreciated! Thank you for all of your support.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill makes an appearance, a series of phone calls occur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my darling Lia for being my own personal Mabel. Also, this chapter was kind of rushed forward because I wanted to post something before Stan-pocolypse.

“I figured out how to solve our little problem,” Bill said. Dipper looked up from where he was editing a new manuscript. It was getting late and he was already in bed. Bill bounced down onto the mattress beside him. Much like the demon’s first visit, Bill wore the spindle-thin suit.

  
“Which problem?” Dipper asked dryly. Channeling every second of the school required anti-bullying talks; he tried not to give Bill the satisfaction of reaction.

  
“The kissing one,” Bill responded. “Did you pay no attention to what I said last time?” Dipper rolled his eyes and returned his attentions back towards the manuscript.

  
“We don’t have a kissing problem. I don’t want to kiss you at all,” Dipper said with finality. He hoped the demon would get his message and piss off.

  
“A smell similar to a nose bleed, the metallic tang one can almost taste on one’s tongue. Bill must have performed some sort of magic. Dipper reminded himself not to look, not to react, not to care.

  
The young man’s control broke when he felt something wet pressed against his lower back. He whipped around to face Bill.  
Where a human’s mouth might be, Bill Cipher had a slash slit, too long and lipless to belong to a man. It was open slightly and a snake-like black tongue hung out, flicking back and forth. Dipper stared at it, hypnotized.

  
“I can tell you like it,” Bill hissed. When he spoke, he did not even try to make it look like his new mouth was moving.  
Dipper scooted backwards until he was as far away from Bill as the bed let him. “I’m not kissing you,” he insisted.  
“What if I had a human face?” Bill asked. “Would you kiss me then?”

  
“Definitely not,” Dipper said with out hesitation.

  
Bill got off of the bed and sighed. “You are really no fun to play with anymore,” the demon complained. “But we work on that.” With a sulfurous puff, Bill left, leaving Dipper coughing in the smoke.

 

The sound of an incredibly shrill song woke Dipper from sleep. He groaned and pressed his pillow over his ears. He almost didn’t answer until he remembered that the ringtone signaled Mabel was calling. Dipper sat up and answered, blearily rubbing his eyes.  
“I hope you know that it’s like five in the morning here,” Dipper said.

  
On the other side of the line, Mabel was hyperventilating. “My precious baby,” she said. Or at least, that’s what Dipper assumed that his twin was saying.

  
Dipper fell backwards. “This isn’t about your cat again, is it?”

  
“This is about you and your new book,” Mabel replied. “And I have to ask you, why did you think it was a good idea to write porn?” Dipper cringed as Mabel’s voice became loud enough to literally shatter eardrums.

  
“Jesus Christ Mabel, calm down,” Dipper tried to soothe his twin. “I’m doing it for the money and honestly, it’s all I can write.”

  
Mabel did not seem to find solace in his words. “Why can’t you just have a blog that says crazy things about the paranormal? How am I supposed to explain to our friends that you moved to backwoods Oregon to write gay romance novels?”

  
“Don’t tell them then!” Dipper replied. “I can’t deal with this right now Mabel. Bill’s been acting up.”

  
Mabel was very silent for a long moment before she spoke. “Bill Cipher Bill?” she asked.

  
Dipper rolled his eyes, not that his sister could see. “Yeah, he’s been making a real nuisance of himself.”

  
“Are you okay?” Mabel asked hurriedly. “Has he tried to take over your body again? Is Grunkle okay?”

  
“He’s been – it’s really – like, nothing. He’s just been doing stupid demon pranks and whatnot,” Dipper stuttered. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m just tired.”

  
“One more thing!” Mabel said, knowing that Dipper would soon hang up. “I was thinking that it would be fun to come down to Gravity Falls in a month or so.”

  
“Is Pacifica coming too?” Dipper asked.

  
There was a pause on the line while Mabel consulted with someone out of earshot. “She says that she’ll come with as long as no one asks her to talk to her parents.”

  
Dipper laughed. “Tell her there’s always extra room at the Mystery Shack.” After a quick goodbye, Dipper hung up. He lay down again, waiting for sleep to reclaim him.

  
After what couldn’t be less than an hour, Dipper rolled over and checked his phone for the time. He had decided at some point that if it were past eight, he would get up and get started on his day. Of course, as was always the way with the passage of time at night, only about fifteen minutes had passed since he had finished the call with Mabel.

  
After a few hours of restless sleep featuring tossing and turning, Dipper decided that he would ask Grunkle Stan what he knew about Bill Cipher. Maybe trying to deal with the problem alone was a stupid, childish thing to attempt. Even if he didn’t want to involve his sister, Stan probably had something up his sleeve.

 

Around noon, Dipper got a call from his publicist, a middle aged woman who insisted on being called Miss Holly, despite the fact her name was Debbie and she was married.

  
“Pine!” she cried through the phone. “Your newest manuscript! Wonderful! Excellent! Perfect! Do you mind if I come down to your place. There are plenty of corrections to be made and I think it would be absolutely fabulous for us to meet up and discuss them.”

  
“What?” Dipper asked. Miss Holly spoke so fast; he could only hear about half of what she said at any time. She was a good publicist though.

  
“I’ll be there at three!” she said before hanging up.

  
Dipper did catch that part. He was about to tell her no, but she was too quick and had already hung up.  
Dipper glanced around the Mystery Shack. A group of tourists had torn their way through the Gift Shop and the kitchen was still dirty from dinner the night before. Resigned, he began to clean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the inconsistent updates, I hope the next one comes soon! As always, kudos and comments are much appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill Cipher, good at exposition and better at making out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you look at all that plot?!

Dipper Pine did not recognise Bill Cipher the next time he saw him, not at first. Cipher wore a convincingly human mask; he had learned from their previous encounters. They met at the Watering Hole. There were actually two bars in Gravity Falls and Dipper had learned his lesson about Skull Fracture when he first moved back. He definitely preferred the old school smell of alcoholism that lent a certain lethargy to the Watering Hole.

Dipper had gone out to celebrate getting his manuscript approved by Miss Holly. He sat on a rickety barstool so unstable he felt is necessary to drape himself over the bar itself to keep himself steady. He noticed a man, an attractive man, order two drinks. Dipper’s only just finished his second drink but the man’s facial features seem fluid and they just won’t sit still in his memory. 

The man approached Dipper with a swivel of his hips. “You look like you could use some company,” the man said. He pushed one of the drinks to Dipper. “And a refill,” he added as Dipper picked up the drink and took a swig. 

“Thanks,” Dipper said with a nod. “Are you new in town?” he asked. Dipper hadn’t been looking for a relationship or even just a lay but if he was going to continue to write romances, he might need a reference refresher. 

The man shrugged. “I’ve been in the area long enough but I just never get the time to come to Gravity Falls proper,” he explained in an off handed way.

Dipper is pleasantly tipsy, he’s never been a heavy weight and his three drinks are plenty to form that warm tingly feeling in his stomach. The man’s company is enjoyable in this state and his touches are even more so. Dipper doesn’t think much of it when he invites the man back to the Mystery Shack with the promise of privacy and a better selection of bourbon than what the Watering Hole has. 

Dipper took the man straight to his room, only pausing in the kitchen to grab a bottle of something hopefully alcoholic. 

The moment that they enter Dipper’s room, the man’s hands were all over him. The man was an expert kisser. Dipper was moaning underneath his lips in moments. He allowed himself to be pushed down on the bed. A cold wave of soberness washed over Dipper as he remembered the last -- thing -- that kissed him in his bedroom. 

Perhaps sensing Dipper’s hesitation, the man paused, breaking the contact between his lips and Dipper’s skin. Dipper keened and arched back into the man’s touch. The promise of sex trumped the vague memories of that horrible kiss with Bill Cipher.

The man leaned down and whispered in his ear, “I guess I proved you wrong, Pine Tree. A human mouth was just what I needed.”  
Dipper tried to pull away but their limbs were too tangled. Cipher seemed quite pleased to stay on top of Dipper. He settled for trying to negotiate with the asshole dream demon instead. “What do you want from me?” he asked, trying to keep the edge of fear out of his voice. “What can I do to get you off?” Cipher raised an eyebrow. “Of me,” Dipper corrected. “Get you off of me.”

“If you promise to be completely silent, I can show you,” Cipher said. He carefully dismounted Dipper, easily separating what Dipper had been unable to.

Dipper hated to promise a demon anything but there was honestly nothing else keeping him from discovering at least part of Cipher’s plan.

“I promise,” Dipper relented. Lines of tension that Dipper hadn’t even noticed fell from Cipher’s face. He nodded and grabbed Dipper’s hand. He too remained silent as he pulled the Pine twin out of his room and out of the Mystery Shack.

Bill led Dipper into the dark pine forest that surrounded the Shack and Gravity Falls itself. When Dipper had been younger and visited during the summer he had often journeyed into the forest at night. Tonight was different. The trees would still as they passed, despite the wind. Blinking, fluorescent eyes watched from the branches and the brambles. A single sliver of moon lit their path. 

After hal of an hour, Dipper began to lag behing Cipher. Instead of stopping and letting the poor mortal take a two minute break like a normal person, Cipher picked Dipper up piggy back style and simply carried the young man.

Bill placed Dipper back on his feet when they reached a clearing in the woods. The clearing curved downwards like a bowl, the ground lined with large, bronze colored tiles, worn smooth by time. In the center of the clearing, in the deepest part of the bowl, was a faintly glowing device. It was part astrolabe and part sundial. 

“This place,” Cipher said in a low voice, “is important. To demons mostly. To everyone else it is an ancient anomaly. The truth is, is that this is a portent of doom.”

Dipper remained silent, due mostly in part of the promise, but he coked his head to the side to express confusion. He could only hope that Cipher understood human body language. 

“One year from today, a demon will arrive here,” Cipher explained. He scowled. “I’m not used to this explaining everything thing.” He continued anyways. “We in the Mindscape don’t call this demon by name. Instead we refer to her as the Demon King. Pine Tree, believe me when I tell you that she is bad, bad news.”

Cipher turned away from Dipper, focussing intently on the strange device. “I’ve realized that I need you. The Demon King and I had a falling out; something about the pyramids being narcissistic and obscene. But she’s got a weak spot for people begging to her in her home tongue. Basically, you’re gonna learn the Common Demon Tongue, beg for your life and the life of this entire stupid rock, or the Demon King is going to blow this place to dust. Deal?”

Bill Cipher stuck out his hand, Dipper squeezed both of his eyes shut and shook it. 

Cipher deposited Dipper on his doorstep. Judging by the plastic clock hanging on the wall beside the entrance to the Gift Shop, it was just past three in the morning. Dipper decided that the best course of action was to sleep and call an old friend in the morning. He still hoped that the whole thing was just a dream and there was no such thing as a demon king and that there were no ancient ruins in the middle of the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, sorry that this took so long to post. I've been having a hell of a month plus however other months it's been since I updated.   
> Kudos and comments are always welcome.

**Author's Note:**

> And of course, you can find me on tumblr at damianwayneprotectionsquad. I am very susceptible to pleading and prompt requests.


End file.
